


We Learned the Sea

by Cryelle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27732286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryelle/pseuds/Cryelle
Summary: Some backstory for my human mage Inquisitor, Irene Trevelyan, and her family. Takes place just a few days a before eight-year-old Irene is taken to the Ostwick Circle. May add chapters to this if I think of some more fleshed-out scenes. (1341 words)
Relationships: Female Trevelyan & Trevelyan Family (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 2





	We Learned the Sea

_Guiding a ship,  
It takes more than your skill.  
It's the compass inside,  
It's the strength of your will._

\- Dar Williams, "[We Learned the Sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2ezu4ShAjI&list=PLNN0jqbyOvsIdyqwltS_JvsOWBPK3vxXQ&index=1&ab_channel=DarWilliams-Topic)"

“Almost got it.” The tip of Isaac’s tongue poked out of one corner of his mouth as he adjusted the temporary rope line that he (and his twin brother Eli, reluctantly) had rigged over Irene’s bed. With the addition of some pillows, some willpower, and a white sheet, they’d managed to create a passable version of the imaginary pirate ship that she’d been begging for since the dark clouds rolled in from the west that morning. 

“I don’t understand why you’d _want_ to be a pirate anyway,” Eli complained. “They’re a nuisance at best and a scourge at worst. They steal and kill and, you know, _pillage_ …” 

“Yes, but I’ll be a _nice_ pirate,” Irene decided. “Like Marianne Summersong in _Four Strong Winds_.” 

“There’s no such thing as a ‘nice pirate,’” Eli countered, glaring sourly over the rims of his new spectacles. “And technically Marianne was a _privateer_ not a pirate. The difference is--” 

“Pirate-catchers, then.” Isaac interrupted, and plonked a hat, brown, much-too-big, tricorner that he’d unearthed from who-knew-where, on his little sister’s head. “No need to get bogged down in the specifics of Antivan trade agreements in order to play pretend. You ready with the sign, Nuglet?” 

“Mhm!” Irene held up the parchment proudly. “I blew on the ink and everything.” 

“It says ‘The Golly Dagron,’” observed Eli. “I think you mean _The Jolly Dragon_.” 

“Good enough!” Isaac said before Irene could argue. “Maybe we’ll encounter a Dagron on our adventures on misty seas.” He affixed the sign to the side of the bed as his sister scrambled onto it, pushing the hat up so it wouldn’t cover her eyes. 

“There’s no such thing as a Dagron,” Eli sniffed, though he glanced in the direction of the bookshelves, as if Irene’s hand-me-down copy of _Creatures of Thedas_ would confirm this. 

“There is if we make one up!” Irene bounced lightly on her bed (not allowed), her small wooden sword clapping lightly against her leg. The boys had real swords (small though they were), but they weren’t allowed to play silly games with them. Irene only had her wooden one thanks to a concentrated charm offensive by which she had recruited Isaac and her father to convince Lady Travelyan on Irene’s behalf. 

She’d barely let go of this prize for weeks especially after their father had begun reading her pirate adventure novels before bed. She brandished it fiercely whenever she had the slightest reason to, as she obviously did right now. “I’m captain,” she informed Isaac. “You can be first ensign.” 

“Sold.” Isaac grinned and rolled up his sleeves. “What do you want to be, grumpy?” 

“I want to be left _alone_ ,” Eli griped, looking wistfully out at the battering rain. 

“Ah, yes, the dread Captain Leftalone,” Isaac said solemnly. “Terror of the Amaranthine. A fine choice. We wouldn’t be very good pirate-catchers without a pirate to catch.” 

“Dread pirate Leftalone! Dread pirate Leftalone!” Irene chanted, bouncing ever higher. “Pleeeeease Eli?” She jutted out her lower lip, letting it quiver once for good measure. 

“Oh all _right_ ,” said Eli, clattering aside his (largely unopened) book in a manner designed to make him seem extra beleaguered. “Maker’s sake, call me Blackbeard or something.” 

“You _wish_ you had a beard,” Isaac teased, despite the scowl scrunching up on his brother’s uncannily similar face. “Honestly I rather wish you did, too. Then at least someone could tell us apart.” 

“Let’s playyyy,” Irene whined, but immediately perked up when a clap of thunder bellowed beneath the words. “A storm!” She straightened her spine and sprung into action. “Raise the mainsail, ensign! It’s blowing a gale!” 

“Aye aye Cap’n Smallnose,” 

“ _Isaac_!” 

He shrugged and gamely pretended to pull an imaginary rope. “You never specified.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Raise it faster, Ensign Bigears.” 

The rain lashing at the windows continued to serve as an exciting backdrop for the Golly Dagron’s intrepid crew, culminating in a thrilling moment of high drama when Ensign Bigears sacrificed himself to distract Captain Leftalone while after it became clear that Eli was determined to abandon the game before the other two were finished playing it so he could “read his book in peace.” 

In his place, Isaac reemerged as Captain Hallabutt (a name that both he and Irene found uproariously funny for different reasons) and the two proceeded to taunt each other as the imaginary ships chased each other around the vast, imaginary sea. 

The storm had rolled on, the rain a soft tictictic on the roof, by the time the final confrontation was at hand. Captain Hallabutt threw his head back and laughed maniacally, brave Captain Smallnose, having recently boarded and fought her way through his ship, giggling and pretending to thrash against the imaginary ropes he’d bound her in. (She would cut them with an imaginary knife at the last second, of course, but not yet.) 

“And you know what I do with pirate-catchers on my ship?” he asked her, grinning wickedly. 

“You make them walk the plank!” she cried gleefully. She would snap her “ropes” and bounce on the bed, leaping in midair at what would certainly be an easy somersault and hold her sword at his throat. Yes. Perfect. 

“No,” Captain Hallabutt said ominously, holding up his long fingers and twitching them. “I… tickle them to death!” 

“IsAAC!” Irene shrieked with laughter, squirming as he tickled her armpits, her hat falling off as she thrashed. “No fair!!! No fair! No--” 

_BZZT_

An electric hum built in the air, and for a second, Irene could feel the energy rising on her skin, every hair on her little body standing suddenly at attention. 

The sudden crash that followed made Irene scream in earnest, cowering briefly against her brother’s chest until she remembered that she was supposed to be a fearless pirate hunter and sat up straight instead. “What… was that?” 

“Sound like a tree went down nearby,” Isaac said, sounding more certain than he felt as he rose to check it out, peeking through the curtains of his sister’s bedroom window. It was nearly dark outside, but it was clear even in the half-light. “Yes, yes.” He waved her over and pointed out at the towering oak just outside Irene’s room. “Look, see the scar in the bark? That means lightning struck.” 

“Everybody alright in here?” Lord Trevelyan asked, striding into the room. “Nothing’s broken?” 

“Just that tree!” Irene reported. “Isaac says the lightning killed it.” 

Deep furrows appeared in the Lord’s brows as he leaned toward the window to look. “It certainly appears that way,” he said, looking out at the suddenly-dead branches that had been so vivacious just moments before. “Very strange.” 

“Why strange?” Isaac asked, his eyes flicking between the window and his father’s drawn face. 

“Typically if lightning kills a tree, the tree explodes. Or the bark sloughs off. A healthy tree doesn’t just wither that because it’s been struck by lightning.” His face clouded. “Not natural lightning, anyway.” 

“You think the storm wasn’t… natural?” Isaac’s heart sank into his stomach, and Irene backed cautiously away from the window, rooting around in her bedclothes to find the little stuffed nug that had been her bedtime companion practically since she was born. 

“I think that when Knight-Corporal Jeffries arrives, it would be wise to ask him if any apostates have been seen in the area,” their father confirmed grimly. “Just in case.” 

“Maker,” Isaac murmured. “I hope not.” 

Lord Trevelyan patted his son’s shoulder. “You’ll know what to do about things like that soon enough. For now, you shouldn’t worry about it. Focus on the interview. You have plenty of time to prepare.” 

Isaac nodded, his mouth dry. “Right.” The preliminary interview next month was just a formality, and they all knew it, but his stomach somersaulted anyway at the thought. 

“And you should go to bed, little miss,” Lord Trevelyan said fondly. 

“Ten more minutes,” she pleaded. “Isaac’s gonna help me take the ship apart. Right?” 

Isaac laughed. Irene always did have a way of getting what she wanted solely by assuming she’d have it. “Of course.” 

“Alright then. Your mother will be in to kiss you goodnight soon. Sleep well.” 

“Don’t worry about the tree, okay?” Isaac said, climbing up onto the bed to take down the line that the sheet still hung on. “It’s probably just regular lightning.” 

“I’m not worried,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the window to half-heartedly tug the sheet down. “Are you scared to fight mages?” 

Isaac cocked his head, surprised at the question. “Templars don’t fight mages unless they have to,” he said. “They protect mages. That’s what they’re there for. When the mages are safe, everyone’s safe.

Her little brow furrowed, considering this. “But you gotta fight those post… pasta-- the bad mages.” 

“Apostates,” Isaac said, smiling. “Yeah, I might encounter some of those. But maybe not. The Ostwick Circles aren’t too big. And we don’t know that an apostate killed that tree. Father’ll take a closer look in the morning. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light. Anyway don’t worry. I’ll probably just be on boring guard duty, most of the time.” 

Irene wrinkled her nose. “Too dangerous,” she declared. “Come be a pirate-catcher with me instead.” 

Isaac chuckled from deep in his belly. “Because pirates aren’t dangerous at all.” 

“Not to us!” she groped around for her sword and held it tight, puffing out her chest with her little nug tucked under one arm. “I’m going to learn to fight, and sail, and read the stars like a map, and all the pirates from here to Orlais will be frightened of me.” She pointed her sword dramatically at her brother, as if about to knight him. “And you can help.” 

“Good luck getting Mother to let you do all of that,” said Eli from the doorway, where he leaned against the jamb. 

“I’ll convince her,” Irene insisted, though she sounded far less certain now, her sword drooping in her hand. 

“Right, just like you’ll convince her not to make you go to bed in five minutes.” 

“Is it so hard to let her pretend?” Isaac snapped, his mouth tightening. “I can’t have gotten all the imagination between the two of us.” 

“I’m being realistic,” Eli argued, moving across the room to help his twin fold the mainsail back into an ordinary sheet. “You’re eight now, Irene. You have to grow up sometime. And Andraste never called anyone to be a pirate.” 

Irene had dropped her eyes and kicked the bedpost. “Pirate-catcher,” she corrected obstinately, though there was an obvious sadness in her voice now, proof that Eli’s blandishments were getting to her.

“Alright, enough realism,” Isaac said firmly. “Bedtime now.” 

“Will you check for the monster?” she asked, looking at both her brothers. “It comes out when it gets dark.” 

“Aren’t you too old for--” Eli began, exasperated, but Isaac cut him off. 

“I’ll do it. Go tell Mother I’ll be along in a minute.” 

“Fine,” Eli said sullenly, and reached out to gingerly pat Irene’s head. “It was… fun to play with you today Reenie. Pretend is… good.” 

“Thanks for being a pirate, Eli,” she said, mostly to her shoes. “You can be a pirate-catcher next time.” 

“Heh. Yeah. Okay. Goodnight.” 

“Maybe he’ll get better at pretend,” Irene said doubtfully after Eli closed the door.

“Maybe,” Isaac shooed her under the sheets. “Could be that he’s too worried about being a big brother to be very good at it.” 

“You’re a big brother, and you aren’t worried,” Irene countered, nestling against the pillows. 

“Of course I’m worried. But I’m not technically the eldest. He’s got to think about inheritance and legacy and all of those things. He wants to make a mark on the world.” 

“I don’t see what’s so important,” she paused to yawn, “about making a mark on the whole world. What’s wrong with just being happy?” 

“If only it were so easy,” he chuckled. “Now. About these monsters.” He got up and moved toward the closet, but Irene shook her head. 

“No, not there.” She pointed to the far left corner of her ceiling, the one directly in her line of sight. “That’s where it makes its web.” 

Isaac froze. “Its web?” 

Irene nodded. “The talking spider. It comes down through the ceiling and makes a web in the corners and tells me…” she shivered. “It doesn’t say good things. I don’t like that spider. Or any spider.” 

Isaac was silent for a long moment. “How long has the talking spider been there, Irene?” 

Her shoulders rounded defensively when he used his Serious Voice and called her Irene like their parents did. “I don’t know. A week? A few weeks?” 

“And what does the spider say?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Irene--” 

“No!” she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “It’s scary and I don’t like it.” 

“That’s why I need to know.” Isaac knelt at her bedside, his brain buzzing. Demons. Irene knew about them in theory, but what did a child know about what a demon looked like in practice? He certainly didn’t. 

Maybe he was just wound up from the storm, the strangeness of the tree. He had to be overreacting, right? Little girls had bad dreams all the time. She had an active imagination. Maybe that was all it was. Maybe--

“I hear someone’s been catching pirates.” 

Eleanor Trevelyan carried herself with the grace of a queen, her poise like a gravitational pull that reoriented those in the room toward her. Irene sat up in bed, and Isaac’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh! Oh, yes. Hello Mother, yes.” 

“Really just the one pirate,” Irene said forlornly, turning her face away from her mother and brother. “And that was only because Eli didn’t want to play anymore.” 

“Something wrong?” She pulled the sheets up a bit, smoothing their wrinkles. “Take out your pigtails, please.” 

Irene tugged at the ribbons that fastened the plaits, combing her fingers through them with considerably more force than was necessary. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “Just a spider.” 

“A spider, mm?” Eleanor crossed to the vanity where a soft, horsehair brush lay.

“A talking spider,” Isaac supplied. “That’s come every night for weeks. Did you see the tree outside? The lightning and--” 

“Yes,” Eleanor said, in that calm, beneficent tone that so befitted her station. A tone that her daughter, brash, bossy, and impatient as she was, had always failed to match in any context. “I’ve seen it.” She sat at the edge of Irene’s bed and pulled the brush gently through her crimped waves. “What does the spider tell you?” 

Irene shook her head again, her hair flapping until her mother held her head steady. “I understand you’re afraid, sweetheart,” she intoned in that lilt that made the Chant sound like honey. “But you don’t have to be. Your brother and I are right here.” 

“But you won’t be!” she cried, flinching away from the brush and clutching her nug so tightly her knuckles whitened. “That’s what it says! It says I’m a bad girl with a bad heart and-- and--” she whimpered. “And you’ll send me away forever.” She threw herself down amidst the pillows, burying her head.

“Oh Irene. You aren’t--” Isaac began, but his mother held up her hand. 

“My daughter, you are the Maker’s own child. You have a fine heart and you are a wonderful,” a wry smile, “if willful girl. Do not doubt our love for you.” She stroked her long fingers through her hair. “In the long hours of the night / When hope has abandoned me, / I will see the stars and know / Your Light remains.” Irene’s muscles slackened bit by bit as her mother spoke the familiar words. “I have heard the sound / a song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice / calling creation to wake from its slumber.” 

Irene didn’t lift her head from the pillows, but she did close her eyes as her mother continued to stroke her hair and chant her to sleep. Isaac lingered, mouthing the words when he remembered them, and holding the door open for his mother when she finally rose, replacing the brush on the vanity before closing the door softly behind them. 

“Will she be alright?” he asked anxiously, looking over his shoulder at her door. 

“I certainly hope so,” said Eleanor, her spine arrow-straight as she guided her son to his room. “Thank you, for getting her to talk about her… dreams. She mentioned something to your father a few days ago but he couldn’t get many details from her.” 

Isaac swallowed, shifting his weight as he walked. “But why… Why didn’t you tell her that you wouldn’t send her away? You told her not to doubt our love, but you didn’t… You’re not. Going to send her to a Circle just because she’s had few dreams. Right?” 

The Lady paused, leveling her youngest son with a hard, unreadable gaze. “We’ll know more when the Knight-Corporal arrives in a few days.”

“A few days?” Isaac repeated, his lungs contracting as if they’d suddenly filled with frost. “I thought--” 

“With luck. I’ll send him a letter to request his presence as soon as possible. Don’t worry. I’ll write to him about returning later for your interview. You’ll have time.” 

“I don’t want time,” Isaac found himself saying, although this wasn’t strictly true. He needed so much more preparation. But he wasn’t thinking of that as he stared into his mother’s impassive face. “You can’t just-- just take her away from us. Just like that.” 

Eleanor sighed a sweet, gracious sigh. “I don’t want her this way either, Isaac. None of us do. But you’re a clever boy. You know it’s for her protection, as much as for ours.” 

“But--” there was a knife’s edge of desperation in his voice. “But aren’t you doing exactly what the spiders -- the demons -- said? Sending her away?” 

Lady Travelyan’s mouth tightened, and Isaac reflexively took a step back. “There is no better system than the one we have. I know it’s not perfect. I know you’re unhappy. I know you’ll miss her. But the Circle can teach her what we can’t. The Templars will--” 

“The Templars could kill her.” His voice quaked, and not the least because of this mother’s withering glare. “If she’s too… too willful they could--” 

“Perhaps we should push your interview until spring,” Lady Travelyan interrupted.. “So you’ll have time to prepare. And to reflect.” 

“Yes, Mother,” Isaac said, his voice a whisper. 

“To bed,” she commanded, and Isaac didn’t need to be told twice. He disappeared down the hall and into his room without so much as a goodnight. 

At the end of the corridor, in Irene’s darkened room, a giant spider onto the foot of the child’s bed, its many eyes glowing an eerie green.


End file.
